


Someday

by all_soul



Category: Agent Carter (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angie Martinelli doesn't deserve this, BAMF Peggy Carter, Bisexual Peggy Carter, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Honestly this was just an excuse to thirst after Peggy, I'm not sorry, Lesbian Angie Martinelli, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Pining, Yes I'm a lesbian, angie has a vaguely shady backstory, f/f - Freeform, mentions of Dottie Underwood, peggy carter/angie martinelli - Freeform, that one lipstick, tiny reference to Disney's Hercules, what about it, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_soul/pseuds/all_soul
Summary: "Well, I look forward to hearing what this is about someday""Someday"In which a day after the events of the season one finale, Peggy climbs through the Griffith window.Thanks to Mads and @fuck_the_birds for beta-ing for me
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli
Comments: 16
Kudos: 109





	Someday

How she ended up with the entire contents of her best friend’s apartment piled in a heap by her door, Angie couldn’t explain. All she knew was that Peggy Carter shimmied her pleading brown doe-eyes across a tiny ledge three stories in the air and trusted her not to let her down, and Angie would be damned if she could ever say no to her.

Ms. Fry was in the middle of explaining how she should have found a way, but Angie found herself staring somewhere over her right shoulder, absorbing none of what she was saying. She just kept seeing those expressive eyes, bleary and apologetic through the window of a cop-car. Those proud shoulders hunched, arms twisted behind her back, veritably creasing her suit jacket which she knew Peggy would complain about later. Although it had to be the least of her problems, it made Angie unreasonably upset.

Ms. Fry was waving a hand in front of her face, but all Angie could see was Peggy stiff-upper-lip Carter drifting in and out of consciousness, defeated.

“ _Miss Martinelli!”_ Ms. Fry snapped her fingers right beside Angie’s ear.

She blinked rapidly before registering a piece of paper being shoved at her chest. Angie took it.

“Miss Martinelli, you know the house rules. It wasn’t enough that you were friendly with that- that _criminal_ , but you _helped_ her, lying to the faces of two government agents! What in the world must they think of the Griffith? You have embarrassed me, this institution, and yourself. You have until tomorrow to pack your things.”

Angie froze. Several girls had come out of their apartments to watch, and Carol and Sarah were looking at her sympathetically behind Ms. Fry. Half the hall was out now, all wearing identical pitious expressions. Angie wanted to sink through the floor.

She murmured an “Okay” and turned to go back into her room, the eviction notice crumpled in her fist, her chest burning with embarrassment.

She only had a day to move out. Two years now she’d lived at the Griffith and that was it. Did she really make such a fleeting impression? No one even spoke up for her. This must be how Molly felt. Her heart sank even lower. She remembered the poor girl’s humiliated face as she hurried out of the dining hall clear as day. Angie hadn’t said anything then.

Once safely on the other side of the door, she pressed her back against it and let out a strangled sob. She shoved her fist in her mouth, trying to stifle the noise because the walls were thin and she could still hear the girls murmuring to one another, and Ms. Fry barking at them to get back to their rooms outside. Hot tears slid down her face and she looked up at the ceiling, willing them to stop. The ceiling was apparently not in a helping mood. She slowly looked back down, her eyes roving across her tiny apartment as she tried not to think about how in the world she was going to move everything. She really did have a lot of things and only one small suitcase, plus all of Peggy’s things piled by the door.

She didn’t blame Peggy. She didn’t. Even so, she couldn’t help but glare at the two matching suitcases and one duffel bag that she didn’t remember Peggy bringing up with her when she moved in. There was a lot she didn’t know about Peggy, she thought bitterly.

Angie was suddenly filled with the unbidden urge to hurl the duffel bag off the roof, and she really might have done it if not for a _tap tap tap_ on her window. Probably a confused pigeon. Leaving rolls out on the sill drew them in like crazy, and her Ma’s voice floated into her head as she flipped the latch. _Don’t feed the strays, Angelita, or they’ll never leave you alone!_

Wasn’t that the truth. As soon as she lifted the window she realized that it was not indeed a bird, but a wind-blown, shaking Peggy, clinging to the wall for dear life, hair a flurry in the freezing night air.

Without thinking, Angie reached out and took her outstretched hand, maneuvering her inside with her other arm braced under a shockingly strong bicep. Peggy’s fingers were ice-cold against Angie’s, her breath labored on her neck. Angie unwittingly tightened her grip on Peggy’s hand.

“Thank you,” Peggy breathed. Her ears were pink, but they were all Angie could see of her. Peggy hadn’t managed to look at her yet.

“You must have some kind a’ death wish, English,” said Angie, folding her arms.

Peggy still hadn’t turned to face her. She was taking her sweet time shutting the window, and when she did she spent another long couple of seconds arranging her hair in the glass.

“The least you can do is look me in the eyes, ‘cause if Ms. Fry finds you here, she’s gonna find a way to un-evict me so she can evict me again.”

“She _evicted_ you?” Peggy said, whirling around. They stood so close that her hair flicked Angie across the nose, but the brief annoyance vanished instantly as she noticed Peggy’s eyes, furious, but also red and puffy.

“Uh, yeah- Peg, is everything okay?”

Peggy quickly wiped her thumb under her eye, glancing somewhere to Angie’s right. “Of course, everything’s fine, I just- I thought I owed you an explanation.”

Right. That. Angie slowly sank onto the bed. Seeing Peggy standing before her, nose pink from the cold, hair mussed like it was when Angie pulled her through the window right before her _arrest_ (that was yesterday; It felt like weeks ago) swung a wrecking ball right into whatever wall had been holding back the shock.

All the tension fell from Peggy’s shoulders, and she took an apprehensive seat beside Angie. Peggy’s presence was as stable and grounding as usual, but Angie just stared down at her lap, bracing herself on the edge of the bed as her vision blurred and focused.

Angie was used to looking the other way at some crooked stunts. She’d kept quiet about her brothers’ bruised knuckles when they came home with their big-boy suit jackets disheveled and messy, and Peggy was hardly the first person Angie had helped through a window. When other folks climbed through her window though, they didn’t acknowledge her. It was a perfunctory act. Those other folks were usually in on something shady that had no room for ‘a sweet dame like you’ that involved some “work emergencies,” quick exits, and interrupting Sunday dinner because they needed a getaway driver (and her brother, Vinny was the best in the game). But _Peggy_. Her English, prim and demure Peggy with a sweet tooth to rival a fairytale and an easy blush to match, she had never expected to join the ranks.

“Angie, is everything alright?”

“I dunno what you want me to say, English,” Angie said, turning to face her friend with teary eyes. “I just never pegged you for that type a’ gal is all.”

“And what type is that?”

“The type that comes home all banged up and never wants to talk about it,” she said, chest aching. Angie thought she’d left this kind of life behind when she moved to the city, but here it was looking at her with concern written all over her face and Angie’s poor stitched-up heart in the palm of her hand. “Don’t think for a minute I haven’t noticed, I seen your kind before.”

“Whatever it is you think I am, I promise I’m not,” Peggy said, real serious, like she needed Angie to believe her no matter what. It almost cracked her resolve, but Angie had resolve up the wazoo and it never cracked before.

“So what are ya’? ‘Cause I don’t see a lotta other options, here, English.”

Peggy took a deep breath. She was nothing if not articulate, but it sure looked like she didn’t know what to say. Nonetheless, her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish and _darn,_ her hair was uncharacteristically messy and a tiny strand of it clung to her lips and her face was filled with so much concern that Angie damn near forgot why she was upset. Heck, Peggy just risked her life scaling a building to talk to Angie instead of, you know, visiting her at the automat like a normal person _,_ and the clear signs of crying became clearer and clearer the longer Angie looked at her and it took her a full thirty seconds to realize she was staring.

“Angie, are you alright?” Peggy asked again, real worry clouding her brown eyes that were going honey gold like bubbling caramel from the sun slanting through the window-

“Huh? Oh, I’m-” Angie took a deep breath. “I’m okay.” She offered a weak smile and cursed herself.

Peggy dropped her hands from Angie’s shoulders and clasped them in her lap. “I can’t believe Ms. Fry would kick you out. This is all my fault, Angie, I’m so sorry.”

The anger from before flickered in Angie’s stomach, but it died before she could open her mouth.

Also, the amount of times Peggy had said her name in the last few minutes was kind of jacking up her heart rate. No one should ever be allowed to say her name again unless they spoke like Peggy did, all clipped and British, but also breathy. It snuck up on her, like she was caught in the middle and had to sigh the end of it. It was reverent, like those church-going types that said every prayer like it was their last.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Peggy said _again_.

“Yeah, I’m fine, English,” Angie said distractedly, meeting her eyes briefly and looking down at Peggy’s hands.

“I don’t believe you.”

“What do you want me to say, Peg, you got _arrested._ The last time I saw you, ya looked like you were drugged- did those knuckleheads drug you? I swear I’m gonna-”

“No, no, Angie- Thompson may be an absolute wanker, but he wouldn’t do that.” She considered for a moment. “Well, Sousa would have stopped him if he tried.”

“This ain’t a joke, English,” Angie said, hating the way her voice hitched. She folded her arms, trying to recover her dignity and failing. She shifted on the bed.

A charged silence filled the air, and they stared at each other, daring one another to break it.

“Yes, of course,” Peggy sighed and sat up straighter, brushing her hair out of her face before speaking. “They didn’t drug me, but I was drugged.” Peggy suddenly started. “Angie, has Dottie come back here?”

“Dot- Iowa? What’s she got to do with all this?”

“ _Has she come back here,_ Angie, have you seen her?”

“No, I haven’t seen her since yesterday, I assumed she was just feelin’ under the weather. Doesn’t answer her door, it’s a bit rude if you ask-”

“Did she leave anything in her room?”

“Leave- Dot didn’t move out, Peg, Fry woulda made an example outta her if she tried-”

“So her things are still here?”

“I mean, I guess-”

Peggy shot off the bed, taking off toward the door before Angie could finish.

“Peg, wait-” Angie rolled over ungracefully and stumbled after Peggy, pushing off the doorframe to find her already rapping impatiently on Dottie’s door. That practiced kinda paranoia steadied her thoughts and she glanced down the hall for a gray head popping over the banister. “If Fry finds you here she’s gonna toss you and me out the way you came,” she hissed.

Peggy didn’t reply. Her hand flew to her head and her fingers combed through her mussed curls until she found what she was looking for. She plucked a bobby pin from just below her part, causing a single lock of hair to fall in front of her ear as she knelt down and stuck it into the keyhole, jiggling it determinedly.

Angie just watched, slack-jawed, as Peggy worked with her head tilted to the side, deliberately twisting and poking with the pin. The fallen curl softened her, drawing such a contrast with her laser-focus that Angie had to take a moment to corroborate the images.

Peggy glanced up at her and Angie quickly shut her mouth. “Do keep watch, will you?” she said, waving in the direction of the stairwell.

Angie hummed affirmatively and turned around, mind whirring so fast she half expected smoke to come puffing out her ears until she heard a light _click_ and Peggy stood. Angie looked over her shoulder and found Peggy regarding her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Actually, I suppose you should come. It might make this all easier to swallow,” she said after a short pause, gesturing for Angie to follow. She slowly pushed open the door, stopping part way to look a few inches above. She nodded to herself and plucked something tiny off the latch. Hand in her pocket, Peggy pushed the door the rest of the way open.

Honestly, Angie was half expecting to find a ticking timer, a bomb right in the middle of the floor about to go off if only to justify Peggy’s agitation. She wasn’t sure exactly what about ballet-dancing-Iowa-farm-pickle-pocket-Dot was worth Peggy’s apparent panic, but Peggy’s hand was so tight around the heavy something in her pocket (that had a very distinct outline) Angie bet she could break an egg in her fist. Why in the world her best friend carried a gun, Angie had no idea, but it sent a shiver down her spine. So she followed cautiously, and when they arrived inside and found no bomb, she let her shoulders relax.

Peggy was not satisfied. She moved first over to the bed, where Angie saw- was that a pair of handcuffs latched around the post? The room seemed perfectly normal and intact save for them, and honestly who was Angie to judge Dot’s preferences? She’d seen weirder, and honestly it was the first thing about Dot that intrigued her. Who knew. The rest of the bed seemed average. Same scratchy pink blanket pulled up over the pillow, same sloping wooden frame curled into a post at the end.

“You gonna start tearin’ open chair cushions next?” Angie said. It was more to make herself feel better more than to actually lighten the mood. “Like one of those spy movies?”

Peggy smiled wryly at that, causing about a thousand more questions to go off in Angie’s head. No need for bombs here - Angie felt primed to blow any second the way Peggy approached the vanity, real cautious-like.

She pulled a pen out of her pocket and carefully pushed aside a tube of lipstick, ducking down to check the name written on the side.

“It’s _got_ to be here,” Peggy murmured, shoving the pen back in her pocket. She pulled open the middle drawer next, and then the right one, then the left one until she finally made a satisfied noise and plucked a single tube of lipstick out of the bunch.

“Did we just break into Dot’s room for some lipstick? What, she never give it back or something?”

Peggy chuckled lightly and pocketed it.

Angie wondered dimly how she had such deep pockets. Were they men’s slacks? She eyed the way they molded perfectly to Peggy’s hips and the dip of her waist. They were not.

“Not exactly, no. She did steal it from me, but I wouldn’t be quite so cross should it have been normal lipstick.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Peggy smiled, and it was so soft and so _real_ that Angie felt a bit weak in the knees. She almost forgot to ask-

“Normal lipstick? What’s wrong with that one?”

It looked perfectly normal. Soft gold rectangular tube with slight ridges, and a number and name carved into the side: _102 SWEET DREAMS._

Angie cocked her head and looked up at Peggy expectantly.

“Right, an explanation,” Peggy said, shaking her head. “I suppose I should start with this, but I’d prefer to skip Ms. Fry’s wrath if I can avoid it-”

As Peggy talked, Angie found her gaze wandering back to the bed. _Handcuffs, huh?_ She did another quick once over, and-

Angie squeaked, leaping closer to Peggy and grabbing her hand tightly. There was a _hand_ sticking out from under the bed on the side facing the window, just visible around the corner. A man’s hand, limp. It had also begun to smell. Maybe it was just Dottie’s perfume covering the odor, or maybe she’d been blocking it out, but now she saw it Angie recoiled.

“Angie, what-”

Angie pointed and Peggy instantly moved toward it, pulling Angie along by their joint hands. Angie stood as far as she could from Peggy while still holding on, forcing Peggy into a rather awkward position bracing herself on the carpet with one arm, and twisting to see under the bed with the other sticking up in the air.

“Angie darling, would you mind letting go for a moment?”

Angie let go, and Peggy stooped, holding her hair out of her face with her now-free hand. She gasped.

“What- who is it?”

“It’s… an agent.” Peggy sat up, forehead wrinkled in confusion. “An operative who was chasing me. I suppose it was suspicious that he never resurfaced after our altercation in Cedar Grove, but I never suspected…”

“And you think Dot…” Angie gulped.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Why she hadn’t disposed of him before now I couldn’t say. I’ll have to call this in.”

“To _who_?” Angie squeaked, feeling very out of her depth. She was no stranger to crime. Her brothers’ gangster pals stopped by Sunday dinner every other week, much to her Ma’s dismay, all shined shoes and greasy smiles and hands on her thighs. Mafia goons were so obvious Angie sometimes wanted to smack ‘em upside the head just for being so smug about it. But Dot? Dot was clearly no mafia stage girl. A lot of people just don’t bother to take a good hard look at much, but Angie was not a lot of people, and she had been well and truly duped. She furrowed her brows in Peggy’s direction, who was carefully lifting the man’s hand with her pen, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“I think Sousa is working tonight, with any luck he’ll pick up the phone,” Peggy said. She stood, dropped the finger, and without so much as blinking she headed for the door, leaving Angie staring dumbly at the hand on the floor.

Peggy was outside talking on the hallway phone for a little while, and if Angie were not so completely overwhelmed she might have worried about her getting caught. Instead she stared at the hand, head spinning a mile a minute, because this didn’t _happen_ in real life. Sure some big-shot Italian boys liked to tuck shiny silk handkerchiefs in their pockets and play gangster, and sometimes creeps really lurked in shadowed alleyway corners waiting for a cute unsuspecting bunny-rabbit type girl to flounce on past; but in real life, bouncy blonde farm girls were not actually killers, no matter how empty their eyes looked sometimes, and best friends were not secretly P.I.’s or detectives or whatever on God’s green one Peggy Carter was.

Because what Peggy Carter was was yapping furiously on the phone and what Angie Martinelli was was not an eavesdropper (usually). All things considered though, Angie figured she deserved some slack if she wanted to play Helda Hopper for a minute or two. So she finally moved from her spot by the bed and pressed her ear to the wall.

“-course I’m sure, Daniel, I’ve just been in her room for Christ’s sake-” Peggy paused, listening to whoever Daniel was. Doubting her, apparently. And Peggy said he was one of the good ones. “Make it five,” she said, and hung up the receiver with a pronounced clack.

Angie heard Peggy’s footsteps outside and shot away from the wall just before Peggy popped her head in the doorway and looked at Angie with something that might have been pity.

“The S.S.R. will be here to deal with this in five minutes.” She glanced out into the hallway, considering. “You won’t have to answer any questions if you stay in your room, I’ll leave you out of it entirely if you’d like.” All the openness from before had gone from her voice and she stood rigid, eyes sharp and focused like they only ever got when she was acting all covert with Mr. Fancy, pretending no one could see them whispering sweet nothings at each other from opposite booths.

“S.S.R.? Like the goons who picked you up yesterday?” Angie’s eyes went wide. “Peg, are you a fed?”

Rather than snapping up all straight-backed and tight-lipped like she usually did when Angie asked about her work, Peggy sagged against the doorframe. She looked nothing like a federal agent when her lips fell open and her eyes filled with melancholy that was worse than the mystery.

“You okay, Peg?”

“They’ll be here any moment,” Peggy avoided Angie’s eyes, but her grip on the doorframe tightened and she was staring real hard at something down the hall, trying not to cry.

Her chest wrenched at the sight. She ached to wrap her arms around those strong shoulders, and rub her back. Maybe Peggy would let herself be held for a little while, too.

Instead she crossed the room, caught Peggy’s gaze for a moment, and gave her a slight smile. “You sure you don’t need me for anything?”

Some of the tension fell from Peggy’s shoulders, and she offered one of those absent smiles of hers. “I always need you, Angie,” she said softly, and Angie’s heart melted a little more. “But I’m afraid I’ve caused you too much trouble already. I’ll come see you tomorrow, same time, same place.”

“But I’ll be gone by tomorrow, I only have ‘till noon to skedaddle or Fry’ll toss me out like day-old tuna fish.”

“I’m sure I could get Sousa to talk her into it. After all, you did assist in a vital investigation, and gave us a key to cracking one of our most dangerous assets’ agenda. Even Miriam Fry could hardly turn away a protected witness…”

“I didn’t exactly cuff a crook, Peg. Besides, tomorrow’s Sunday, I’ll be at my Ma’s for Sunday dinner, and she’s always tryin’ to get us to cozy up for the night anyhow.”

Peggy deflated a bit. “Alright. But I’ll be back after we’ve done dealing with this, so don’t fall asleep in the meantime.”

A loud bang came from downstairs followed by the kind of squeaky footsteps made by expensive shoes. A furious “oh _goodness._ ” A man’s voice, then the indignant tirade of a woken and steaming Miriam Fry wafted up the stairs.

“I don’t think I’ll be sleepin’ much tonight, English.”

\--------------------------------------------------

During the hour Peggy was gone, Angie could hardly breathe. She paced around her room murmuring aloud to herself, regardless of whether or not it would definitely cement her as the house loon, because Peggy Carter was a federal agent. One who got mixed up in something dangerous by the looks of it, and not some Brooklyn-dock-druggie-in-need-of-a-fix type trouble. Real trouble. The kind that ends in handcuffs and tatty uniforms and no curlers, or vanities to sit in front of to stick them in. But somehow, less than twenty four hours after she got shoved out of the Griffith all dizzy and caught, Peggy called up her government buddies and they were suddenly at her beck and call. She and Angie found a dead man under their roommate’s bed and she was cooler than cream. What kind of person is so calm around that sort of thing?

A sharp knock at her door startled her out of her reverie along with a familiar shadow shifting underneath.

Angie rushed over to the door and opened it wide, quietly letting Peggy in.

She held up the lipstick from before and offered a tentative smile. “I thought we should talk.”

“Understatement of the year,” Angie muttered, but she took it when Peggy offered it to her. Angie turned it over in her fingers. Lifted it to eye level.

Peggy sat down on Angie’s bed.

Angie sat down beside her. Uncapped the lipstick. It was red - darker and more audacious than most of the Griffith girls wore, and Dottie always wore pink if Angie remembered correctly. Peggy always wore this shade though. Angie’s eyes flicked up to Peggy’s lips and yep, they were red. And full, and slightly parted, and Angie reminded herself that she was supposed to be angry with her. She cleared her throat.

“So, uh- wait,” Angie frowned. “You wear that color every day. How’re you wearing it now if Dot had it? And what’s it got to do with your super-secret Mata Hari gig?”

“I wear this one over my usual color. It gives me certain… advantages in some situations.”

“I’m sure it does,” Angie mumbled without thinking.

“Right, yes, sorry, it’s just difficult. I’m so used to keeping this from you, from most people, really. It’s nothing personal-” she said quickly in response to Angie’s dejected look, “It’s just that people who know about it- about _me_ , and even people who don’t usually end up dead.”

 _Usually? Dead?_ Her chest tightened. If people around her were at risk, how many times had Peggy herself almost died?

“You still haven’t told me what _it_ is, Peg.”

Peggy nodded and took a deep breath. “You must understand that telling you this puts you in danger. My line of work concerns the type of people who will not hesitate to come for my weak spots, and don’t worry about collateral damage.” She paused, looking up at Angie with yet another look she’d never seen her wear before. Resigned, already sure Angie would just get up and leave. She was almost insulted.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, English. I’m a big tough girl, I can take care of myself.”

Peggy smiled, unconvinced. “Alright. Yes, I do work with the government. The Strategic Scientific Reserve is a wartime division dedicated to the protection of national security that runs out of several secure locations around the country. You’ve already met Agents Thomspon and Sousa. I’m afraid there’s very little I can say in the realm of specifics, but putting it simply, I’m an agent. A spy, more or less.”

“And when they came and cuffed you, what was that about?”

“The S.S.R. headed the chase after Howard, claiming he had sold some of his most dangerous inventions to enemies of the United States. He came to me shortly after the trial asking for my help just before he fled the country. I agreed, and ran the investigation into the stolen weapons on my own from within the S.S.R..”

“Howard like Howard _Stark_? Like, big-shot-millionaire-wanted-for-treason Howard Stark?”

“That’s the one.” Peggy shook her head and smiled down at her lap. “We met during the war. He was the only person who really believed in me, at least until Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Rogers.”

“ _Captain America?_ ”

\--------------------------------------------------

Angie wanted to smash the automat radio. No wonder Peggy hated Betty Carver so much. She would too if people wrote _her_ that one-dimensional and useless. As a friend, she was offended, but as an actress, she was just disappointed. What kind of a show took a knockout Brit with more fire than the Fourth of July and more tempered optimism than an Italian war flick and turned her into Joan Fontaine. They didn’t even try all that hard. Betty Carver. Peggy Carter. When Angie brought it up Peggy made a face so chilling she wondered how Germany didn’t just stick their hands in the air the first time she showed up there.

Oh right, she didn’t connect calls during the war (called it) but worked in the field as a spy and combatant (not called it). She also didn’t just know Howard Stark, but worked with him, and with Captain freaking America. That explained the photo of him Peggy kept on her vanity.

\--------------------------------------------------

Sometime over the course of the hour, Peggy had rummaged through her things and changed into that godforsaken black and red robe while she talked.

_“Steve and I met at the base in Wheaton, New Jersey. Obviously he was much smaller then, but- damn, Ms. Fry just shoved things in here, it’s all a tangled bloody mess.” She extricated the robe, giving it a sharp yank that tugged several other robes and assorted pajamas out with it._

_Angie averted her eyes and tried not to think about all that silk and how it must shine across Peggy’s shoulders, or how it must lithely drape over her, flattering her generous curves and-_

_“Where was I? Yes- New Jersey. He was so fragile then, but it was obvious from the beginning just how far he stood out from the rest of the bunch.” Peggy smiled warmly. The expression was familiar but Angie couldn’t place it. “Dr. Erskine picked him immediately, much to Colonel Philips’s chagrin. He favored another candidate, but he never would have done. The serum based its effects on the existing principles of the subject. That is- a good person becomes better, where a bad person becomes worse. If Colonel Philips had his way then it would’ve been Hodge. I believe I gave him a bloody nose the first time we were introduced.”_

_“You gave soldiers bloody noses?” Angie asked excitedly._

_Peggy chuckled. “Yes, he made some smart comment, so I punched him. Yes, he never would’ve done, one punch knocked him straight to the ground. Steve was different.” Her tone took on that wistful air that made Angie want to wrap her up in a blanket and spoon-feed her chicken soup. “He was earnest, and good, and he would’ve given anything for his best friend, Bucky- Barnes, Sergeant James Barnes. I don’t think he ever recovered from losing him. Probably blamed himself for it until the end.”_

_Peggy looked sadder than Angie had ever seen her. Not on the day her coworker died, or even talking about Colleen, her roommate who did not indeed move out, but was_ shot _. Just in case Angie’s little crush needed another reality check._

\--------------------------------------------------

_“Do you remember Colleen? My roommate?”_

_Angie nodded._

_“She didn’t move out. She- she was shot.”_

_“Right there in the room? Aw, Peg,” Angie said, ignoring the shock of fear that ran up her spine. Peggy needed her solid right now, because her shoulders were beginning to tremble and she gripped the bed sheets so tight her knuckles went white. Angie scooted closer and wrapped a comforting arm around her._

_“She didn’t have to die, she just happened to be there. She was asleep and I’m the one who told her to stay home for the day, the operative mistook her for me and-”_

_“Hey Honey, look at me, hm?” Angie twisted on the spot and brought the crook of her finger to Peggy’s chin, gently lifting it so she could look her in the eye. “That wasn’t your fault. And I bet a load a’ you agent people get hurt, but it seems like you get in a lotta trouble for tryin’ to help people. You can’t be so down on yourself for bein’ a good person, English.”_

_A smile flickered across Peggy’s face and she raised a hand to Angie’s, taking it and lowering it, but holding on like she needed to. Like it anchored her._

_Angie’s heart fluttered. Peggy’s hand was warm in hers and she sucked in a breath as she realized that with the way she was turned, her arm draped over Peggy’s shoulders, their hands clasped between them, they were so close their chests pressed together, and Peggy’s deep, sad eyes were all she could see._

_When she jolted back to Earth, she first congratulated herself for ignoring the feel of Peggy, all soft and warm against her front. Next, she realized that Peggy was looking at her through her eyelashes, studying Angie somewhere below her nose. Angie took a slow breath in at the look in Peggy’s eyes. For a second she looked like she might want to kiss Angie just as much as Angie wanted to kiss her, and the thought sizzled in her chest like a sparkler in the snow._

_Sometimes Peggy was a bit too English. Like when she spilled her coffee and let out a string of not-curse words that completely befuddled Angie. Or when she couldn’t quite form the “r” sound in “darling” when she complimented her with that gosh darned glowing smile that made Angie want to yank her right over the counter and run her hands all over her. Right now she looked the perfect image of an English rain on the water: erupting in a million tiny ways at once, rippling differently every second. Water in the rain went steely gray, completely opaque, kind of like the expression on Peggy’s face. She was thinking something, but Angie, usually so good at reading people, was at a loss as to what. Sometimes Angie hated allegories._

\--------------------------------------------------

“You know, you still haven’t explained the lipstick yet,” Angie pointed out.

“Yes, of course,” Peggy said, leaning down and pulling it out of her jacket pocket.

“It gives me certain advantages,” she repeated, “It’s been laced with a non-lethal drug that puts people to sleep. It’s rather presumptuous, but that’s Howard’s only setting, I’m afraid.”

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

“You said you were drugged yesterday.”

Peggy nodded.

“And you got real freaked about Dot right around then.”

She nodded again.

“That means she was the one to drug you, right?”

“Yes she was,” Peggy said, confused.

“And we found your knockout lipstick in her room.” Despite the terror of the situation, Angie couldn’t help the slow, teasing grin spreading across her face. “Peggy Carter you did _not_.”

“Didn’t what?”

“You _kissed_ Dottie Underwood!”

Peggy went red. “I- no, I- she kissed _me_ , I didn’t see it coming at all. She just grabbed me, I didn’t have time to-”

“Relax, English,” Angie said, shaking her head gleefully. “That when you found out she was a super-secret Russian spy?”

Peggy went cold. The kind of face probably reserved for enemy soldiers or war criminals. “Yes it was. She tried to kill me more than once after that.” Peggy winced, and rubbed at a spot on her back that she seemed to have forgotten about until that moment. “She hit me quite a few times with a baseball bat,” she said in response to Angie’s questioning look. “To be fair, I kicked her out a window shortly after.”

“You- you kicked her out a window?” Angie said weakly. She tried to reconcile the image of Dottie Underwood - sweaters-and-kitten-heels Dottie Underwood with the frizzy blonde hair and oversaturated smile - being kicked out a window in a vicious fight with Peggy, who stood over her, probably covered in bruises, regarding her like an enemy. And despite just having found a dead body under her bed, she just couldn’t do it.

\--------------------------------------------------

“My brothers sure missed you,” Angie remarked. They sat on the bed, mostly in the dark save for a single lamp on her bedside table. ‘It’s after midnight,’ she’d said. ‘We should keep the lights off so Ms. Fry doesn’t get suspicious,’ she’d said. Her and her big mouth. She’d meant it as a joke. (The last thing she saw before the room plunged into darkness was Peggy’s hand on the switch and her sly smile.) At some point Angie’s head had fallen onto Peggy’s silk-covered shoulder and their hands had found each other, sitting clasped on their pressed-together thighs. All the windchill was gone from Peggy’s skin and she was warm against Angie’s cheek.

“What? Oh! Oh, Angie, I completely forgot you set up an entire getaway plan for me!” Peggy shifted abruptly, causing Angie’s head to slip from her shoulder as she turned to face her.

In that moment the lamplight perfectly illuminated the side of Peggy’s face, carving her like a statue and finding home in her dark eyes. Angie forgot how to breathe.

Peggy took Angie’s other hand and on Angie’s sharp inhale she was flooded with the heady scent of Peggy’s perfume. She just couldn’t win.

“I hope they weren’t waiting for too long,” Peggy said, tracing lazy patterns on the backs of Angie’s hands.

“We’re Italian, Peg, but they waited for about ten whole minutes. I almost filed a missing persons.”

Peggy chuckled at that, and Angie’s chest filled with the sound.

Without thinking, she lifted a hand to Peggy’s face.

Peggy’s breath hitched and she glanced down at Angie’s hand on her cheek, but made no move to remove it.

So Angie just let her fingers play, her index finger rubbing slow circles near Peggy’s hairline. Slowly stroked her cheek with her thumb. Enjoyed the pronounced dip at her cheekbone and the impossible softness of her skin.

When she finally met Peggy’s eyes, the look on her face was like nothing Angie had ever seen, and she knew instantly that she would never get it out of her head. Even if this was the last time, if Peggy read the bare love in her eyes and rocketed out of her life like a freight train, this would be burned into her forever. Because Peggy’s lips were slightly parted and her eyes were soft and firm and there was the tiniest crease between her eyebrows like she was making a decision she’d thought over a million times before. She looked at Angie like she was the only thing in the world.

Angie’s thumb had stilled on Peggy’s cheek and she realized she’d been staring at Peggy’s lips for a good while. Her eyes flicked back up to Peggy’s and there was something else there. Whatever decision she was mulling over, she’d made it.

Suddenly Peggy’s hands were sliding up her neck and really the world isn’t supposed to shatter in a kiss. But Peggy’s lips were furious on hers and Angie’s head exploded into fireworks. Peggy’s kiss was blazing and fervent and hungry and desperate - it was every piece of her Angie had suspected was there, and here it was confirmed in a kiss like the English rainstorm, and Angie wanted to dance in it forever.

She whimpered softly against Peggy’s mouth and Peggy immediately pulled away, chest heaving.

“I hope I haven’t read this wrong,” Peggy said breathlessly, looking over Angie’s face, committing it to memory like she might disappear.

“You talk too much,” Angie said, and just like that all the caution sucked out of the room.

Peggy’s foot almost knocked the lamp clean off the table as Angie launched forward, pressing her flat on her back on the bed.

Strong hands ran all over Angie, exploring her shoulders, her hip, her waist, and ultimately coming forward, desperately pushing aside the material of Angie’s dressing gown just as Angie was untying Peggy’s.

This moment flashed in front of Angie’s eyes every time Peggy wore that blessed, beautiful robe, but right now she needed it gone.

Peggy broke the kiss to drag her lips along Angie’s jaw, and the way she bit down just below Angie’s ear had her thanking a God she’d long since stopped believing in.

Peggy completely abandoned her precision and reservation when she kissed, and Angie never thought messy would ever suit her but _oh,_ if it didn’t add another delicious facet to the unraveling mystery that was Peggy. Peggy kissed down Angie’s neck and Angie adjusted to give her better access, falling onto her forearms so Peggy could continue down her chest and across her collarbones. Angie hoped to that new God that her lipstick would stain because she didn’t think she’d believe this had happened if it didn’t.

She would remember this forever regardless of whatever marks appeared come morning, because _hmm_ Peggy was good at this. Based on the timeline Peggy gave her she had no idea when in the world she would’ve had the time to learn. But then she remembered all the stories that U.S.O. Carol had told her about corners and dressing rooms and concealing lipstick marks under her uniform. Angie would’ve up and joined the army if it meant feeling Peggy nails digging into the backs of her thighs like this, even pressed into some scratchy tent floor.

Angie let out a whine when Peggy’s thigh ventured high between her legs, and she felt Peggy smirk against her skin at the noise.

“Don’t - _ah_ \- go all smug on me now, English,” Angie gasped.

“I thought you knew me better than that, darling,” Peggy mused, her voice a good octave lower than usual. It sank hot into the pit of her stomach. Lower.

Without warning, Peggy gripped Angie by the arms and suddenly Angie was flat on her back with Peggy’s knees on either side of her, pressing right over her hips. Peggy sat up straight and tossed her hair over her shoulder, arching her back unnecessarily pronounced, and Angie had a feeling it was not out of practicality.

“Tease.”

“Hush,” Peggy commanded. Angie had no choice but to obey as Peggy pushed the robe over her shoulders and lifted herself to allow Angie to wriggle out of it.

As Peggy shirked her own gown, Angie’s eyes fell right to her chest. She took a moment to congratulate her imagination, because it was just as Angie had pictured during some of those nights she tried to forget. Angie immediately felt self conscious considering the… considerable difference, and moved to cross her arms over her chest.

“Angie, what’s wrong,” Peggy said, all authority dropped from her voice. She cupped Angie’s face with aching tenderness.

Angie leaned into the touch, but tightened her arms around herself. “I’malittlelessimpressivethanyouareEnglish,” she muttered.

“Sorry?”

“You just got a little bit that I don’t s’all,” Angie said quietly, avoiding Peggy’s eyes like a child.

“Oh, Angie.” Peggy brought her hands to Angie’s wrists, gently prying them away and taking Angie’s hands in hers.

Angie flushed, burying her face in the crook of her shoulder, pressing her nose into the blanket. “Just didn’t wanna disappoint you,” she murmured.

“Angie, you must know that you could never disappoint me, but if you want to stop I won’t be angry. For the record, I think you’re beautiful.” Peggy let go of one of Angie’s hands and gently brushed her cheek with her knuckle. “Look at me.”

Angie turned, blinking hard. Peggy’s eyes were all wide, and the light from the lamp silhouetted her strong body, curving over her thighs and shining over her hair. Beautiful. More beautiful than anything Angie had ever seen in her whole life. And that warm look from before was fixed on her. She recognized it now. Heat flooded her chest and her face broke into a smile.

“What is it?” Peggy said softly.

“I love you too,” Angie breathed. She wanted to scream it, never wanted to stop saying it. She might just explode if she didn’t, so she brought a hand to Peggy’s face and grinned and grinned. “I’ve loved you for a while, English, gosh you’re oblivious sometimes.”

Peggy’s eyes somehow got wider. Her whole body tensed, and all the confidence flooded out of Angie.

“Oh gosh, Peg, I’m sorry I just-”

Peggy sealed her lips tightly over Angie’s, effectively cutting her off and enveloping her in an embrace that made her want to melt into an Angie puddle. Peggy broke the kiss way too soon, but Angie’s smile was back and Peggy’s face was lit up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree.

“I never thought you would feel the same,” Peggy admitted, eyes sparkling in the low light.

“Jeez, you really are dense, English,” Angie said, thumb stroking Peggy’s face. She wanted to cry. Her chest was full of tears and if Peggy weren’t looking at her like she hung the moon, the stars, and the sun, she might have. “Now uh, if you don’t mind…” her eyes travelled the length of Peggy’s body. “I think you were in the middle of something.”

“I was. You are just the worst distraction, you know that? Mr. Jarvis certainly thinks so,” Peggy said innocently.

“Well you tell him he’s gonna have to start repeatin’ things more often, ‘cause-” Angie leaned up on her elbows and bit Peggy’s bottom lip, coaxing a lovely groan out of her. “I don’t intend on stopping distractin’ you anytime soon.”

“Oh you _tease_ ,” Peggy hissed, and pressed her lips to Angie’s, pushing her back down to the mattress. Her hand ran down Angie’s side and the other dug into her hair, and by the time her hands had wandered everywhere they wanted, Peggy was all over her. Peggy’s fingers and her lips knew all of Angie, and Angie’s hands knew every soft, muscular, glorious inch of Peggy.

She lay wrapped around Peggy, left arm draped over her waist, right pillowing her own head, just watching Peggy breathe. How in the world she managed to land the elegant mystery that had wandered into the automat looking for a slice of pie and maybe a friend all those months ago, Angie couldn’t say. But somehow Peggy, for whom her feelings inspired a few choice auditions, Agent Carter, who took down the Red Skull by Captain America’s side, and English, with her watery smile and rainstorm eyes, was hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know it's been four years, what about it


End file.
